


the divine masculine

by nakamoon



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Angels, Archangels, Blasphemy, Blood, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Self-Harm, Violence, bastardization of judeo-christian beliefs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-08-24 20:25:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16647179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nakamoon/pseuds/nakamoon
Summary: It’s pathetic, really, how two of the most heavenly creatures have been reduced to flesh and bones and carnal desire, to blood and passion and reckless abandon.[not long ago, taeyong and yuta went by the names of michael and gabriel. now heaven and hell are one and the same.]





	the divine masculine

**Author's Note:**

> i leave you with a dusty au i've had for a while, i decided to polish it a bit and post it :)
> 
> PLEASE guys, be mindful of the tags, this might not be everyone's cup of tea and it might not be an easy read to everyone, especially the starting scene.

Taeyong sits on the edge of the bed, looking at the wrist in front of him. The pale skin almost reflects under the flickering light of the motel room. He takes one look at the wall clock. 11:54.

A slight, almost nonexistent smile grows on his pink lips, edge of something akin to malice adorns his delicate features. He takes the blade from the bedside drawer, the metal glinting like a sharp promise, like everything Taeyong desires. It is not with clumsiness that he cuts into his own flesh, no, it’s something more deliberate, it’s messy, ugly but with purpose. Always with purpose.

He watches as the drops of blood trickle down against his skin, looking too delicate and soft to be marred with such a filthy blade, to be painted with such disgusting liquid.

Taeyong laughs, it's an uncontrollable feeling inside him, his body spasms as the cackles leave his lips, a shrill hellish noise fills the room and he can't stop. He vaguely wonders if the humans in the adjacent rooms can hear him, and if they do, will they complain to the old lady at the front desk? He hopes they do, he's in the mood for a fight.

He stares at the door for a few more minutes, waiting for someone to knock just in the slightest annoying way, but when no one does, he grumbles once before looking back down at his bleeding arm. He sighs in content before moving on to the other one, sliding the blade once more, relishing on the pain this mortal body allows. The howl of manic laughter continues, echoing and reverberating throughout the room, making the windows shake, the outside birds fly away, feathers shivering and afraid.

“Good,” he mutters under his breath, his voice icy but with unmistakable satisfaction. The crimson liquid falls in small trickles, staining the pretty beige carpet in front of him. “Let them know I was here.”

Before Taeyong can make a new cut, now on the flesh of his forearm, the door slams open, no knock, no warning, just a loud and grating, “Honey, I’m home!”

Taeyong looks up, eyes bright and shining, his heart full like only a human’s ever could, “Yuta,” he whispers.

It takes one second for Yuta to look at the sharp blade in Taeyong’s hands, all the blood on his arms and floor. He closes the door with another slam, this one angry. “Taeyong,” he starts, voice ever laced with honey but the violence in it is also obvious, “Haven't I told you to stop doing that?”

Taeyong pouts before sighing, throwing himself backwards onto the bed, bare skin making contact with the scratchy bedsheets. “You weren't here, you took too long and I missed you. I knew you would smell me.”

He doesn't have time to say anything else before he sees his lover’s blurry figure stride towards him, throwing himself on top of Taeyong, straddling his thighs, face inches away from his own.

Yuta snarls, hot breath and heavy above Taeyong’s own mouth, one hand on his throat, adding pressure second by second. “You wanna hurt that bad, baby?” He takes the blade from Taeyong’s own hand, “I can hurt you, you don't need to do it yourself, don't worry.”

From where he’s laying, he can only see Yuta’s angelic face. God, he is pretty, the most beautiful thing Taeyong has ever seen, everything else, every flower, every creature God dared create pales in comparison to Yuta. He spits on him. “Do it then, bastard.”

Yuta doesn't need to be told twice and Taeyong soon feels the sharp pain in his abdomen, the cold sharpness against him, the warm liquid flowing out of him. The guttural sound he makes is terrifying, a mix between a moan and a whimper.

“You’re fucking stupid, you know that right?” Yuta hisses against his neck, licking a stripe of soft skin. “What would I do if something happens to you?”

“Kill yourself,” Taeyong laughs before it's interrupted with a groan as another cut is made. Once the pain settles in, he continues, “Kill yourself because your mind won't be able to take it, love. You’ll burn without me.”

Yuta doesn't reply, he doesn't need to because they both know he's right. It’s ok, Taeyong would burn too without Yuta and it's a knowledge engraved in them. Earth would be nothing without each other.

Yuta throws him a sweet smile before crashing their lips together in a wet kiss, connecting tongues and dripping saliva almost - _almost -_ numbing the pain with heavenly pleasure. It’s not exactly heavenly though, not when they are down here, nothing is ever heavenly on Earth.

He can feel Yuta grow hard just where their crotches align, where he’s grinding against him, increasingly frantic. He takes off his own shirt, now matching with an almost naked Taeyong. When the other man reaches out to unbuckle Taeyong’s jeans, he stops him with a firm hand. “I see you think you get to fuck me tonight, Yuta,” Taeyong laughs, throwing his head back, “I think otherwise.”

With one swift motion, Taeyong has them both flipped, his body flushed against Yuta’s, his blood now staining both of their torsos, part of their hair and face. If anything, Yuta looks even better now, atop his pillow, pupils blown and lips bitten, Taeyong’s own blood painting his body like a canvas, like a warning that says _yes, he is mine and no one else's._

He’s the one that unbuckles both of their jeans, grinding almost maniacally against the other. Taeyong enjoys the feeling and sounds Yuta makes as soon as his cold fingers enter him, the sensation of Yuta’s cock in his hands and mouth, warm and pleasing and everything that’s right in the world. And then, after Taeyong decides it’s been enough waiting, he slides into Yuta, as it was always intended, the divinity of their souls burning inside them, bursting through their mortal bodies. He thrusts into Yuta’s spent body, fucking him just like they both like it, without warning. The sting of pleasure flows through them both and Taeyong whispers into the room, “ _Gabriel._ ”

“Shut the fuck up,” Yuta groans and just like that, Taeyong feels another sting against his skin as Yuta jabs his fingers into his fresh wounds. When it’s finally too much, Taeyong can feel the orgasm run through his body, shivering in gracious pain and eternal love.

-

Taeyong lowers the car’s old window, letting the whistling wind run wild against his hair, the red strands looking almost like licking flames going ablaze. He smooshes his cheek against his own arm as it lazily hangs from inside the car, letting the sunrays caress him in warmth. Yuta speeds, the Nevada highway as their only witness.

He looks up at the blue, blue sky, white clouds puffed up all across the landscape. He smiles - faintly - recalling how humans think Heaven resides on the sky above their head.

Taeyong thinks it's foolish how the people on Earth pray to God. He _does_ exist, Taeyong’s own existence is proof of that, but to think that He listens to them? God is more selfish than any of them think, he is not evil, but he does not listen either, at least not to him nor to Yuta, even less to Doyoung or Jaehyun or any human roaming earth on a prayer.

God hates them, Taeyong has come to theorize, he hates the humans and he hates the angels just as much as he loves them. Taeyong is the same, he hates his creator, he hates every human, he hates Yuta too, and most of all, he hates how much he loves them, how it is ingrained in him to love such rage.

“Do you still want to do it?” Yuta whistles tunelessly, his voice drowned by the wind on Taeyong’s ear.

“Do what?”

“You know,” his lover smiles, the infinite beauty in him covered by a childish enthusiasm. “What we talked about last night.”

“Oh,” he realizes, the sun on his skin lulling him to a drowsy state. “Maybe. I don't know yet.” There’s a pregnant pause but Yuta doesn't push the conversation, instead, he busies himself with singing along to a song Taeyong is sure he’s making up.

“God won't be happy.” Taeyong says for the sake of it. Because it's true, even if he doesn't give a damn.

“Who the fuck cares?” Yuta growls, pushing the pedal to dangerous speeds. Taeyong rolls the window up in annoyance. “God can fuck himself for all I care." A beat of silence. "You hear that? Taeyong, this is what we are becoming now thanks to Him.”

God made Taeyong just like he made Yuta, just like he made a thousand others like them and he made them perfect, not one mistake, benevolent beings of purity and love and _goodness._ But the Creator was stupid it seems, or maybe he just didn't care, for he sent his little angels down to Earth, to end it as he had always intended. But you see, good little angels are made for Heaven and nowhere else, and the moment their little angel feet touch Earth, they are doomed. For pure perfection cannot coexist with the filth that roams amongst human evil, for angel souls get corrupted, soaking in everything and slowly rotting away to insanity.

 _Insanity,_  that’s what Taeyong will be reduced to, it will be part of him, part of Yuta too; and they’ll both get devoured by the mistake that is their humanity.

Taeyong is slowly going insane by being here on Earth, and there’s nothing he can do to stop it.

“I want cigarettes,” Yuta announces, “Let's go to that gas station.”

He takes an abrupt turn, throwing Taeyong’s body forward, almost colliding against the window. “I hate you,” he mutters, but when he says so, he can't help but look into his reflection, to the trail of purple bite marks on his neck Yuta left the night before. They hurt if Taeyong presses too hard, but it’s good, it's all good as long as they're Yuta’s.

They get out of the car as soon Yuta parks the car in a desolate gas station in the middle of nowhere, Taeyong thinks of the human’s greed with disdain. He started understanding many things once he arrived on Earth, however, materialistic greed is something still repugnant in his eyes. Yuta, however, has an easier time enjoying it.

They enter the place, it’s a small dingy store with no customers, only summer flies and a lonely cashier, a young woman scrolling down her phone.

“Where are the cigarettes?” Yuta announces in a bubbly voice, his leather boots full of purpose as he walks up the unnamed woman. “I want some.”

She stares at him for seconds, enthralled by the other’s face. Taeyong cannot blame her, he knows how beautiful Yuta is, and yet still, an ugly, very human emotion in the depths of his stomach surfaces from him. It is not the first time he’s felt jealousy, how could he not when Yuta is like a light to all the fucking moths he calls humans.

“The cigarettes,” Taeyong snaps instead, “Where are they?”

The woman turns to look at him, she opens her mouth, as if she wants to retort, maybe call Taeyong out on his rudeness, but he knows she senses his hostility not a moment later, for she looks down at the counter and points to a small rack with various brands of cigarettes.

Yuta smiles contently at the rack, picking out at least three different boxes. Taeyong turns around to the back of the store, where the snacks are. A pack of white powdered donuts stands out, he grabs a package and opens it, staining his fingers with the white powder as he munches on the soft bread. He makes his way and grabs two bottles of cold mango juice before going back to the front of the store.

Sometimes, he thinks, Yuta does unnecessarily stupid shit, but this sight is new, he’s never done anything like this before. There he is, pointing the barrel of one of his guns at the woman’s head, who shrieks in panic.

“I will count to three,” he sing songs, “And when I’m done, boom! I will kill you!”

 _What is Yuta doing?_ The woman screams some more, something along the lines of _please, don’t_ and _take the money._ It doesn’t matter, Yuta is only bluffing. They cannot kill humans; they could, if they truly wanted, but Michael and Gabriel, even the bastardized, stained versions they are now, were taught better. _Never kill a human_ , God had said - until armageddon, he forgot to say.

“Yuta,” he threatens, voice sounding more annoyed than alarmed. “Let her go.” He looks at her with sharp eyes, “Leave.”

The woman doesn't need to be told twice, she nods and hurries away in terror, just looking back at them once before closing the door.

“You ruin my fun, asshole,” Yuta hisses, now pointing the gun at him. “You don't love me, do you?”

“I don't love you,” he answers without thinking, and as soon as the words leave his mouth, Yuta shoots, purposely missing the head by a few inches. Taeyong laughs then, full laughs that fill his stomach until he’s gasping for breath and he doesn't think anyone else will ever make him laugh the way Yuta does. He doesn’t know what’s taken over him, he doesn’t know what’s taken over Yuta, maybe this is the start of madness.

“It's not funny,” Yuta whines, putting the gun back in his coat, “You're a fucking idiot, that's what you are.”

“I definitely am an idiot.” He walks over to the other man, pushing him against the counter before slamming his lips into Yuta’s. The kiss is harsh, as they always are, practiced movements filled with intensity, but this one also has a softness to it, a slight telling of _I love you._

Because he does, and Yuta knows it. He has always loved him, even back there in Heaven where their souls were blank and their hearts clean. He’d love him as Gabriel then and he loves him as Yuta now. But this love and these feelings, they are different from the ones before, now he feels passion, now he feels desire and a burning intensity for Yuta that's stronger than what Heaven could've given him. That's why he understands humans, as fucked up as they are, at least they have good reasons behind the sins they fill Earth with.

“Let’s do it,” he whispers into Yuta’s ears, “Let’s say fuck it and do it, my love, divine plans and all that be damned.”

Yuta smiles, a wonderful unadulterated beam that warms all his senses. “Really?” he laughs giddily, “Ok!”

He slithers away from Taeyong, leaving him with his mouth in the air, before grabbing a packet of beef jerky and shoving it in his pocket, probably in the same one where his two guns lay. “I got the arch swords in the trunk,” he says in between munches, “They’re cute.”

Taeyong snorts, he wouldn't say they're cute but they do have style. “C’mon, let's get out of here.”

Yuta preens again, leading the way out into the hot summer afternoon, where the sun is at its highest and the humid air feels suffocating, Taeyong grabs an ice lollipop on his way out, watermelon flavored.

He’d never thought this was how their story was going to go, not by a mile. His story had an easier path, maybe a happier ending, one where his mind wouldn't end up being corroded by madness, but he can't say this is wrong either. In fact, this feels more like a prologue, not the climax, and Taeyong is going to make sure he starts the story with a bang.

-

They end up fucking once more that afternoon, when the sun is setting and the night breezes of the nearby Mojave desert arrive. The sun paints the landscape with oranges, pinks and blue hues, the nautical twilight sky wholly barren of any stars, almost static, as if time stopped the moment Taeyong felt Yuta inside him.

They collapse in a tangle of sweaty limbs and cum-stained fingers, sweet to Taeyong’s mouth. Car back seats are perhaps not the best for sex, he thinks, the edge of a seatbelt jabbing into his ribs.

“You hear that?” Yuta says, face still pink with the rush of blood and lust.

“No,” is all Taeyong replies before buttoning his pants and climbing over to the front seat, soon followed by the other man, who promptly complains about having to drive for so long. Taeyong doesn’t like driving and Yuta likes stepping on the accelerator maybe a little too much; the arrangement works fine, Yuta just likes complaining.

They resume their drive, and Taeyong, once again, rests his head near the open window, content with looking at the scenery. Yuta is babbling on and on about some thing or the other, Taeyong isn’t too sure about what, but his steady voice is enough to calm him.

There’s something odd about the air, although he can’t quite pinpoint as to what exactly. But then, there it is. The stench of blood and rotten meat reach his nostrils just as he realizes what was wrong: the night breeze has completely stopped, they’re going at ninety miles per hour, yet there’s no air running through Taeyong’s hair.

“Doyoung is here,” Yuta says, nerveless, confirming Taeyong’s thoughts.

“Why does he have to smell like that?” Taeyong adds, pinching his nose in distaste at the intensely unsettling smell.

“You smell like what you eat,” Yuta says satisfied, stopping the car right in the middle of the highway. The sky is now dark, the setting oranges giving way to deep blue. “That’s why you smell like sugar and ass.”

A light, white and burning, flashes just a few meters in front of them. The light is almost enough to blind the human eye, to Taeyong, it’s just another inconvenience by the name of Doyoung. “Get the swords, Yuta,” he says before opening the rusty door and rushing outside.

The smell from before is now gone, as is the white light, but in its stead, a sole man stands there, right in the middle of the highway. He is handsome, just as Yuta and Taeyong are, even almost as angelic as Yuta, except not quite to the extent. But then again, Yuta had always been the sweet one, the playful one with a slight tinge of mischief in his words, of course his face would be incomparable. Taeyong had been the favorite one, the fearless one, the one cherubims and seraphims looked up to and envied. And Doyoung - well, Doyoung was the one always trying to catch up to him.

“Michael.” The voice is as chilly as the night but it is nice to Taeyong's ears, melodic as only Doyoung ever could.

“It’s Taeyong now,” he smiles at him, teeth baring in taunt as he leans against the car’s hood. “To what do we owe this pleasure, oh, beloved Doyoung?”

Doyoung grunts, an animalistic sound that Taeyong finds amusing. “It’s Rafael to you, deaf bastard.”

Taeyong laughs, it is not at his friend’s words, but at the misery of the situation. “And why are you here, Rafael?” he hisses the name like blasphemy.

Doyoung sniffs. Taeyong had always thought he was too pristine, maybe too arrogant, even for an angel. And now, with a shaking hand he's trying not to show, with a coat and cheeks stained with human blood, he is still trying to look the part, a fearless angel with a job. Maybe it had not been arrogance, maybe it was pride, and for that, Taeyong commends him.

“I am here to tell you to come with me, Michael. You and Gabriel deserve a place in our army, as God has always wanted.”

“Deserve a place?” Taeyong snorts. He doesn't know if Doyoung is wishful thinking, still blinded by everything, or just plain stupid. “Don't you mean you _need_ us in your army of pathetic angels? Jaehyun is dead, Doyoung, that means it is only you standing by God's side.”

“It does not matter if you are with us or not, we will win because that’s how it’s written.” It’s only until now that Taeyong sees Doyoung’s own sword in his other hand, the one not shaking uncontrollably.

“Two archangels are more than enough to beat your whole army, you know that, you need us.” Taeyong himself could kill God’s whole army of angels but he doesn't want to add salt to the wound that is Doyoung’s delicate ego. “Why are you doing this, Doyoung? Don't you see what he’s done to us? He threw us down to Earth to do his little Armageddon job without caring what happens to us all.”

Doyoung looks down at the floor, the grip on his sword tightens. “Because when all of this is done, we can go back. Away from this hell.”

“Surely you don't think that,” he snorts, “When all of this is over, whether humans live or not, we stay here. And we rot.”

“No!” Doyoung yells, a horrible chilling sound that penetrates the night in anguish. “That's not true. Please, Michael. We need you to finish this, you know that. _Please._ These… feelings,” he continues, hands slowly going to his head, “I can feel them consummate my brain. I can feel myself going insane, saying things I shouldn't, wanting to kill and see blood and flesh. _An angel shouldn't be here,_ ” he cries louder, “An angel shouldn't be here because their mind goes mad and their soul rots away!”

“No, we shouldn't be here,” Taeyong concedes, “But what can we do?”

Earth, he's come to learn, is both Heaven and Hell. Maybe that's what God intended all along.

“We've decided,” he continues, pitying Doyoung yet his words are merciless, “That we will help the humans, Rafael, we will destroy all angels against us and them. We will stop Armageddon.”

“You will go insane.”

“That's ok,” Taeyong shrugs, “Tell me, have you ever been in love?”

Doyoung looks at him in disbelief for just a fraction of a second. “Gabriel!” he calls out instead, “Gabriel are you ok with this?” Doyoung should know, he should _know_ , Yuta had always been the one most enamored with the humans.

Yuta, who had been standing on the other side of the car, silent, watching everything unfold in front of him, finally steps into their sight, carrying a sword in each of his hands. “Doyoung,” he says softly, sad, “You were always the most vulnerable. I feel your pain, friend. This madness is not fun, it is not good. Yet, Taeyong and I are already starting to feel its effects.”

He says again, walking closer to the third angel, “I almost shot a human today,” Yuta looks heart-broken, like everything he wasn’t when he threatened the cashier a few hours earlier.

“It doesn’t have to be like this,” Doyoung tries again, “We can end the humans’ world of pain and we can go back home and leave this behind.”

Yuta nods, sweet smile growing on his face, “That sounds nice, maybe you're right, maybe we don’t need to suffer.”

Taeyong sees Doyoung smile back for the first time in a millennia, it’s a beautiful sight, it almost catches him off guard and he wishes for simpler times. Taeyong smiles back, eternally sad as he turns away from Yuta and Doyoung. He doesn’t want to see this.

He looks up at the dark sky, the desert stars are a marvelous sight. Maybe the humans were right in their own way, maybe the sky _is_ Heaven, and Taeyong’s Heaven is nothing but another Hell. He listens in as the sound of metal cuts into Doyoung’s divine body, the archangel sword burning him into ashes, he laments and prays as one of the greatest heavenly warriors dies, fooled into submission by Yuta’s soft words and sweet smile.

“Sorry, friend,” Yuta whispers as the intense embers die down and the black ashes get blown by the wind, scattering across everywhere.

Taeyong walks up to him, puts a hand on his shoulder as they watch one of their own turn into nothingness. “You saved him,” he says, “He won't go crazy like the rest of us.”

Yuta lets out a sigh, nodding. There’s a beat of silence between them before he replies, “Do you want me to kill you too?”

Taeyong looks at him in what feels like hours, an eternity, getting lost in the darkness of Yuta’s eyes and perhaps that's where he wants to stay. “Never. I won’t leave you here alone.”

Yuta’s lips curve into that bright heart-warming smile Taeyong is in love with. “Me neither.”

“Besides,” he looks into the horizon, where the small city lights can already be seen from afar. The sound of trumpets is heard in the distance, edge of unease in the air. “We have an apocalypse to stop.”

Yuta looks back at him, sword still in hand and Taeyong feels infinite, divine love.

-

Taeyong sits on the edge of the bed, looking at the wrist in front of him. The pale skin almost reflects under the flickering light of the motel room. He takes one look at the wall clock. 11:54.

A slight, almost nonexistent smile grows on his pink lips, edge of something akin to malice adorns his delicate features.

Doyoung was right, Taeyong recalls, an angel shouldn't be on Earth, an angel shouldn't be on Earth because their mind goes mad and their soul rots away.

-

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading ♡ kudos and comments are appreciated!
> 
> i'm also on [twitter](https://twitter.com/ten_taeil) and [CC](https://curiouscat.me/nzt127)!


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